


рассвет

by Serpents_Cradle



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Drabble, I Wrote This By Accident, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Should I orphan this? Probably, There are no names in this whole fic, Vague, poetry as prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16935081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpents_Cradle/pseuds/Serpents_Cradle
Summary: They say the night is darkest just before daybreak, when it catches on the edges of light just enough to show the darkness of the abyss.





	рассвет

**Author's Note:**

> It is currently 2:39 AM. I apologise for this.  
> \--  
> I don't own anyone mentioned or depicted. Please remember that RPF is fictional. Don't go and harass NHLers about their love lives over fic.

They say the night is darkest just before daybreak, when it catches on the edges of light just enough to show the darkness of the abyss.

His skin is soft under the moonlight, even where it has been marred by scars. It has only been so long since the last time he's had him like this, spread out and open and smiling, and yet it feels like it has been millennia since they last met.

The years stretch few and far between and the seconds collapse into centuries when he is with him, an anachronistic beacon that refuses to darken even in the deepest night, the same way the moon above them paints the black sky blue and silver. 

His eyes flash, and he can taste the stars on his lips, feel the dig of astral ice beneath his skin when he pulls him closer. He begs him for _more, harder, please_ in a language that neither of them truly own, turning their future over in his belly and letting the high swoop down on them gracelessly. To this language, they are both native.

The sweat beads on his forehead, crystal clear and reminiscent of days spent chasing their silver prize, a decade spent on its capture but not a second of it wasted. His star-boy has a plea in his very soul now, caught behind tawny eyes and thick lashes, and he cannot help but give.

He cries out for him, his back arched beautifully and his fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on the blonde there just to hear him keen. A tear slips from the corner of his eye and his lips tremble, but he knows it is from pleasure over pain. He would never hurt him.

He shifts his angle, a gentle nudge turned into a fluid push and then the fingers at his hips tighten, warning him silently before the man beneath him blooms, crimson and navy painting his vision as he tips over the edge, the golden curls falling back again to reveal his star-boy's smooth skin. He does not hesitate to turn the cream there red-purple-blue with his lips. 

They dance there for a while, a tangle of limbs and stolen breath in a mess of sheets; but all too soon, the world comes back, and they are alone again. This cannot happen, they know. What happens in the dark stays in the dark, they know. He presses another kiss to his collarbone and slips away just as the first ray of light peeks over the trees.

(The moon is beautiful, but he sometimes wishes he could see the sun rise.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr at @evgenismalkin.


End file.
